


November Rocks

by Omnicat



Category: Darker Than Black
Genre: Contractor/Contractor Relationships, Gen, James Bond References, Male-Female Friendship, Pre-Canon, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:03:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnicat/pseuds/Omnicat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on the look-out for a long awaited, victim-shaped promotion, April drinks and November 11 compares himself to James Bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	November Rocks

The waiting was always the worst part. Even worse than the cigarettes. By the time he had to light up, he at least had the satisfaction of a job well done, and the – admittedly very slight – comfort of knowing that the toxin he was inhaling was nothing compared to what he’d just done to their poor sod of a target to make taking those dreaded drags necessary. _Excessive waiting_ , though, made his body turn traitor and try to convince him a fag would be good even when he wasn’t running the risk of turning into a puddle of molten Contractor.

Tsk, bodies. So hard to find good ones these days. And then his remuneration had to go and ruin the only one he had.

Oftentimes he could, of course, ask April for sex, but even as a Contractor he found a distinct lack of fun in humping a woman who was yawning all the way through. Of all the agents MI6 had, he had to be partnered with the one dressed like a stripper but wired like a log of wood. Tsk. MI6.

She was grinning at him, too. They’d been together so long she probably knew exactly what he was thinking, right down to the amount of ‘tsk’s. She teased him about it sometimes, that tendency of indulging his now defunct restlessness just to have something to do. November didn’t see how poking around for sore spots she knew weren’t there was any better, but oh well. Even though she couldn’t seem to care less about her liver, sipping beer non-stop for hours on end beforehand wasn’t an acceptable answer to her own boredom, either.

November sighed and leaned back in their booth, flicking the Non-Smoker sign back onto the table. "Never saw Bond having to do this. Don’t remember how he got to be 007, but surely it was more spectacular than sitting around for hours for the sake of an alibi."

April chuckled. "Ever the thrill seeker, eh? And I suppose I’m to be the Bond Girl."

"You’d rather be Moneypenny?"

"I’m quite fond of April, thanks. Simple, elegant – and no ‘May Day’ or ‘Pussy’ nonsense."

"I do seem to have given myself the short end of the stick, compared to you." He gave her a mild, crooked smile. "November 11 is fine in its own right, but it’s a mouthful in a pinch and you can’t do anything _fun_ with it. Can you imagine introducing yourself as ‘Eleven, November Eleven’?"

"Just go with Jack Simon, then," she said, shaking her head in amusement. "‘Simon. Jack Simon. Save the martini, I’ll have a packet of cancer sticks.’"

"All my life I’ve had people ask me which was the first and which the last name. That would only make it worse."

"You’re hopeless."

"I know. But I’m bored. Really should’ve known this code name would come back to bite me in the arse."

"Why’d you pick it, then?"

"It’s James Bond’s birthday."

For a moment April only stared. Then she let out a long, hearty peal of laughter, head thrown back and beer spilling. Coming from a Contractor who’d named herself after ‘April showers’, he took it as a compliment.

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, she said, "Well, after today it might suit you better."

"I really do hope he stops by here first. Our promotions are depending on his dying in a swift and orderly fashion."

"You’re telling me. Fancy another drink?"

"No thanks."

The last stretch was always the longest, he supposed. Just this one more, and then there would be no more petty theft and assassinating naughty messenger boys, no more handlers keeping them down and telling them not to go overboard. Tsk. What was the point of employing Contractors only to tell them not to use their gifts to the fullest? If he must turn his lungs into slabs of tar, he would do it as an agent, not a dog on a leash.

 _Ah,_ he thought as the bell over the door clanged and he caught sight of the new arrival. _Speaking of dogs. The fool actually came._

"April?"

"Oh yeah," she said, waving the man over with a grin. "Showtime."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments on older fics will _always_ remain welcome. :)


End file.
